


Journal of a Warden

by theranger0119



Series: The Journals of Those Who Fail to Exist [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Criminal Warden, Different Warden, Second Chances, Wanted Warden, probably angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 14:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theranger0119/pseuds/theranger0119
Summary: Everyone deserves a second chance, a phrase easier said than executed.  In fact, for many literal execution is easier than actually executing the sentiment.  Such is the case for Hannalea, a long-time thief, murderer and general vagabond.  Or at least... she was.  Now she's thrust into the role of Grey Warden, hunted no less than before but now a symbol of hope to the masses.  A hero.  Will she rise to the occasion?  Or is such an immoral past impossible to escape?





	Journal of a Warden

I woke to the sun shining through the window, the bright light cutting through the stifling atmosphere of the room I was in. For the moment, I was content. Content in the lightheartedness that had come with the ignorance that morning brings. Then the dark silhouettes of the bars on the window shattered the illusion and I remembered where I was: the dungeons of Denerim. It was a disgusting place. Just the sort of place that could ruin your good morning mood. Thankfully, this would be the last day I spent in this place, a thought that somehow failed to be reassuring as I shuffled to the window and looked out. Though the window was level with the ground, I could still make it out. The gallows. Backlit by the rising sun it stood tall, menacing both the courtyard and my future.

It was hours later when that morning’s lies were finally broken by a guard at the door. I’d been waiting for this. Not eagerly but certainly expectantly. I’d watched people arrive all morning, their feet blocking the light from my window as they passed, gathering for that day’s “entertainment”.

“Get up, lass. Time to meet the Maker if he’ll take you.” His tone was gruff as he unlocked my cell, his voice that of a person who'd found comfort in a pipe for too many years. Picking myself up off the dingy floor, I went over to him

“Hands-oh.” I already had my hands extended for him to chain, an action that had obviously made him suspicious seeing as how he stared at me like I was mad while he clamped the shackles onto my wrists. Compliance wasn’t expected from someone in my position. Hysteria was expected. Violence was expected. Being a general pain in the ass was expected. Some last-ditch grab for freedom, but he wouldn’t get that from me. I was done running.

The guard led me through the maze-like corridors that make up the inner dungeons and eventually we reached a set of stairs leading upwards to another level, hopefully the ground level. After being roughly (and might I add unnecessarily) shoved up the stairs we emerged into the courtyard, the pain the sunlight caused my eyes joining that of my stinging palms and freshly scraped knees. Everything was just so overwhelming after having spent the last few days alone in my dark, mildewy cell. The bright sunlight, the sound of people’s chatter and laughter, the smell of vendors selling food. It was that last one that really got me. I hadn’t eaten since I’d been brought down into my cell. ‘Course I hadn’t expected anything else. A dead man has no need for food.

I was steered towards the gallows, the crowd parting as though I was some tainted creature. They fell silent as we passed, an eerie turn from the din that had filled the air just a moment before. All eyes were on me as I mounted the steps, and, ridiculously enough, I found became rather self-conscious. Leave it to me to start worrying about whether or not my bandana’s in place when I’m marching towards my own funeral _._ Feeling foolish, I scowled to myself, banishing those thoughts from my mind.

Once at the top, I was pulled towards the middle rope of the three hanging from the gallows. No one joined me on the platform. It would seem that I was the only one providing the show today. A guard who had been waiting on the platform then went to fit the noose about my neck, removing my bandana and trading the pendant necklace I wore for one of rope. It was… disappointing. There was no way that they would allow one such as I to die and be buried with any sort of personal artifacts about their person, especially ones as valuable as that. I suppose I should have been grateful. After all, I had been allowed to keep the items far longer than I had dared to hope. A small, rather forced comfort as the ringmaster began to speak.

“Hannalea.” His voice was formal, stiff, as though reading the deeds of some lofty lord and not a hardened criminal. “You have been accused of thievery, ambushing travelers along the North Road, unprovoked assault of travelers…”

+++

The girl in the gallows. The infamous Hannalea, scourge of the North Road. A feared menace, discouraging travel for all but the most determined. Her reputation would have her seem a monster, reveling in the slaughter and suffering that she brought, but the girl in the gallows did not seem like such a monster. She simply stood there, quiet, patient. Calmly waiting for her fate. Most people, when forced to look death in the face, would struggle, show fear, anger, _something_ , but this girl showed none of that. Her expression almost made it seem as if she welcomed the noose about her neck. No hardened criminal would go to death so willingly…

“These are the crimes with which you have been charged. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” the speaker directed these last words to the girl on the gallows, expecting some sort of reaction.

He would have to be disappointed, however. The girl just stood there, silent. She wasn’t going to say anything in her own defense. It was decided then. I knew what I had to do, but if I was going to act, I would have to act quickly.

+++

The speaker asked if I had anything to say in my own defense. It was a pointless formality, however. There was nothing to say. Even if I did choose to profess my innocence, it would be a lie that no one here would believe. Good for them, I’d never believe it either. I only wanted them to get it over with already.

“In light of your crimes, the Arl of Denerim sentences you to death. May the Maker have mer…”

“I invoke the Grey Warden’s Right of Conscription.”

A man’s voice rang out, clear and carrying. All was silent for a few beats, then the courtyard erupted into chaos. People muttering to each other, people screaming in indignation, people calling for my head. All of it I heard, and yet I heard none of it. My only focus was on the silent man standing before the gallows. The man who had spoken. A Warden, it would seem. He didn’t appear all that special. Nothing advertised the fact that he was a member of such a legendary group. His clothing and armor were practical and unadorned. His dark hair was pulled back and showed the grey signs of age, yet he made it seem as if he was still a man in his prime. A strange man. Stranger still that he would decide to save me.

The guard just stood there, staring at the Warden in shock. It would seem the puppetmaster had lost control of his show, something that came as no small satisfaction to me. The guards, too, were stunned, but one of them gathered his wits enough to remove the noose from my neck. No matter what anybody had decided, no matter what anyone wanted, my fate could not be changed. My life belonged to the Wardens now. There is no contesting them once the Right of Conscription was invoked.

“Duncan,” the orator began shakily, “are you certain about this? This… _girl_ is one of the most wanted criminals in the country.”

“Then she should be able to wield a blade for the Wardens quite well, shouldn’t she? You never can have too many soldiers when a Blight comes.”

The soldier who’d removed the noose from my neck then brought me the bandana and necklace that had been taken from me only moments before, his eyes widening a bit when he finally saw me from the front. Now seeming a bit disgusted, the guard placed the necklace in my hand and tied the bandana around my neck for me, shaking his head as he went away as if to clear the image of what he’d seen from his memory. For a guard it would seem he had a somewhat… _frail_ constitution. It really wasn’t that bad, still, I was grateful for the bandana to be returned to its rightful place along with my necklace which over my head. All throughout, however, I continued to study the Warden, Duncan, who had since climbed the steps of the gallows and was conversing with the lead guard.

“Fine, Duncan. Fine. You win. But people are not going to be happy about this.” The orator then turned and yelled to the guards, “Fetch the belongings we confiscated when we caught her,” and when the guards gave him questioning looks the already irritated orator was forced to elaborate, “Yes, that means the saddlebags. _And_ her weapons. Maker’s breath it’s not a difficult concept. Go!”

Once the guards scrambled off to do as they were told, the guard returned to speaking with Duncan, “You know her record is now wiped of all past crimes, she can no longer be tried for any of those. However, if she commits any in the future…”

“The Wardens will be sure to watch her until she finds it in herself to change her dastardly ways,” though his voice was flat, the ghost of a smile played on the Warden’s face.

The guard snorted in disbelief at that reassurance but said nothing more, the three of us falling into a sort of awkward silence until the guards returned with my things, both of them flushed and somewhat out of breath. I’d be lying if I said that having my things back wasn’t at all comforting, a smile almost forming on my lips as I pulled on my old coat, the worn leather brushing against the back of my calves. Feeling about in the pockets, I found my coin purse and journal still there, much to my relief. Thus able to move on to the task of retrieving my weapons, I picked up my belt (with sheaths and knives still attached, thank goodness) and strapped it on, the heavy sheaths settling comfortably on my right hip. I then grabbed my quiver and clipped it to a special loop on the left side of my coat, within easy reach of my hand. The arrows were all gone of course, but no matter, I could make more. Finally, I could buckle on my sword sheath. It was the sort that crossed the chest and back so that the weapon was strapped to the swordsman’s back. The sheath was empty as I strapped it on, but that wouldn’t be the case for much longer as I reached for the blade it had been made for.

My sword is no trivial weapon. I had spent years saving for this feat of smithing. Though plain and unadorned, it’s made from a blued steel that’s quite difficult to make, and the cracked leather grip had been lovingly cared for for years. I gingerly picked it up, the metal cold, yet somehow it felt warm to my touch, almost as if it was welcoming me home. The weight of it in my hand was more reassuring than I had anticipated and, no longer able to hide a smile, I returned it to my sheath with a confidence that comes with years of practice. The hiss of the blade as it slid into the well-oiled leather of the sheath was the most beautiful thing I had heard in days, and I was reminded how fortunate I was to know what it was like to have a weapon that is a part of me.

“Is that all? From your renown, I was expecting you to keep knives in both boots and up your sleeves as well.” Duncan’s tone was lighthearted, joking. I suppose he intended to be reassuring, but the lead guard apparently decided that such a mood was inappropriate.

“I regret to say that you unfortunately won’t be getting your bow back. A few of the guards decided that it would be better used as kindling…” He didn’t sound regretful at all to be honest. No matter. I had made that bow myself and it hadn’t been the first one that I’d had to make, nor did I expect this last one to be the last.

“Now, Duncan. I would prefer it if you could get your new _recruit_ out of the city by sundown.” He gestured to the now mostly-empty courtyard. The disgruntled feelings of those remaining obvious to anybody watching. “The… _Warden-Recruit_ is a bit of a liability as of now and we’d rather have her out as soon as possible.”

“Just as well. It’s best if we head out sooner rather than later if we are to make it to Ostagar in time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. There's that first chapter. Did this a while ago, dunno if I'll actually continue it. I do like this story so I might, don't expect anything though. Hope you liked this little bit! I'd love to hear what you think along with any creative criticisms.


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